LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 
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UNITED STATES OP AMERICA. 




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WAYSIDE MUSIC 



LYRICS, SONGS AND SONNETS 



V 



CHARLES H. CRANDALL 




G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS J~2*VS ^ J 



NEW YORK LONDON 

27 West Twenty-third Street 24 Bedford Street, Strand 

Ube Iftnicfterbocftev press 



1893 



h 






Copyright, 1893 

BY 

CHARLES H. CRANDALL 



Printed and Bound by 

Ube TRnfcfcerbocfeei: press, mew HJovft 
G. P. Putnam's Sons 



TO MY WIFE, 

MARY VERE DAVENPORT. 

AS THE GREATER MUST INCLUDE THE LESS, SO THESE FRAGMENTS 

OF MY LIFE ARE NATURALLY COMPRISED IN THAT 

LARGER UNWRITTEN VOLUME ALREADY 

OFFERED TO YOU, 



Springdai.e, Conn. 
Nov. r, 1893 



"IN COVER" 

Love, to your arms I bring them and yield them- 
In your full charity take them and shield them— 
Wood-bird and blue-bird and blithesome canary, 
Some that are jocund and some that are chary. 
Weary, perhaps, now their wanderings over, 
Silent, they muffle their voices in cover ; 
Yet they but sleep until you shall wake them, 
No one beside can so easily make them 
Pipe as of old, when, by your gate swinging, 
Sight of your face would set the?n all singing. 



The poetry of earth is never dead. 

Keats. 



Soft is the music that would charm us ever. 

Wordsworth. 



CONTENTS 



LIFE— LOVE— NATURE 



Wayside Music . 

The Little Missionary 

Field Violets 

Pictures in Air . 

In Hidden Ways 

Each Day . 

Patience 

October 

The Christmas Glow 

Three Trees 

Old Trinity Chimes . 

Sunday in Wall Street 

In the Atelier . 

Looking Forward 

Who 'll Buy Greatness ? 

A Parable . 

Roll-Call 

The Race . 

Maid with the Eyes of N 

In a Dove-Cote . 

The Fair Copy-Holder 



PAGE 

I 

3 
4 
6 

8 
9 

10 

n 
14 

17 

20 
22 

24 

25 
26 
28 

30 

32 

33 
34 
36 



Vlll CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Fame • • 37 

A Lady in the West 38 

The Train 39 

Wistaria 40 

Quatrains 41 

Cradle Song 42 

Thomas' Baton 44 

The Harbor Light 46 

A Picture 47 

ToE.C.S. 49 

To J. C. R. D 50 

Emerson 51 

On Sunset Ridge 53 

" Keep to the Right" 55 

Written on a Seashell . . . ' . . . .56 

Welcome 57 

"For Poets Only" . . . . . . .58 

Saratoga 59 

Diondehowa River 64 

IN LIGHTSOME MOOD 

At First Sight 69 

On Mary's Fairness 70 

Hesperides 71 

A Perfect Heart 72 

Communication 73 

Needless 74 

To a Beauty 75 

The Golden Age , 76 

By the Brook 77 



CONTENTS. 



IX 



PAGE 

An October Birthday 78 

A Masque of Singers 79 

A Masque of Poets 81 

A Masque of Beauties 83 

SONGS 



The Happy Farmer . 

" Robin Adair " . 

Never Fear 

June Song . 

One Little Room 

My Troubadour . 

"Dreams of the Past' : 

Willow Song 

Skating Song 

a Song for the Hickory Tree 

Easter 



85 
87 
89 
90 
92 

94 
96 

97 
98 
99 

[OI 



SONNETS 



The Old Dwelling 

The Human Plan 

Woman . 

Illusions 

Sleep's Conquest . 

The Forest Knights 

The New Year . 

Columbus 

Shakespeare 

Adelaide Neilson 



102 
103 
104 

105 
106 
107 
108 
109 
110 
in 



X CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Sunset on the Palisades .112 

To Beatrice Cameron .113 

The Dawn 114 

Oliver Wendell Holmes 115 

"H. H." 116 

Not by Self-Sight . . 117 

Sympathy 118 

Waiting 119 



ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 



About three-fourths of the poems in this volume have appeared 
previously in The Century, Harper's Monthly, Atlantic Monthly, 
Lippincott 's Magazine, Cosmopolitan Magazine, St. Nicholas, Out- 
ing, Frank Leslie's Monthly, Ladies' Home Journal, Magazine of 
History, Critic, Art Journal, Judge, Christian Union, Lndependent, 
Youth's Companion and the New York Tribune. Acknowledgment 
is hereby made for kind permission to reprint. 



LIFE— LOVE— NATURE. 



WAYSIDE MUSIC. 

TTHEY stood there in the bleak, cold street, 
* Strolling musicians, quaintly dressed, 
Who played an old air ; strong and sweet 
It rose and fell and sank to rest. 

Yet still my heart, responsive, beat, 
And with my steps I marked the time. 

A subtle music moved my feet, 

Like that which makes a poem rhyme. 

Likewise to sounds that swiftly flew 
Soldiers in fight have forward pressed, 

Still thinking their dead bugler blew 
Because his challenge fired each breast. 

Quickly my fancy strayed away 

To youthful dreams too dear to tell, 

When joy outlived the longest day 
And grief was but a word to spell ! 



WAYSIDE MUSIC. 

Then every morning music brought, 
And time with gladness sped along : 

No Ariel thought escaped uncaught, 
And every sound was turned to song. 

It comes again, the glorious sound, 
Immortal, wonderful and strange ! 

It wakes my pulses with a bound, 
And sets a step I would not change. 

Sweet, o'er the hills that hide my youth, 
I hear the bells of morning chime. 

They ring for honor, love and truth, 
And head and heart are keeping time. 



THE LITTLE MISSIONARY. 

O he has met me many mornings 
^ With the basket on her arm, 

And a certain subtle charm 
Coming not from her adornings, 
But the modest light that lies 
Deep within her shaded eyes. 

And she carries naught but blessing 
As she journeys up and down, 
Through the never heeding town, 

With her looks the ground caressing ; 
Yet I know her steps are bent 
On some task of good intent. 

Maiden, though you would not ask it, 
And your modest eyes would wink, 
I will tell you what I think : 

Queens might gladly bear your basket 
If they could appear as true 
And as good and sweet as you ! 



FIELD VIOLETS. 

A LMOST smothered in the roses 
**• In the basket on the curb, 
Not a hand their charm discloses, 

Or but touches to disturb ; 
For amid the cultured graces 

Of the crystal-sheltered air 
Who, in Broadway's stream of faces, 

Who will ever think or care 
For violets, blue violets, 
Common, wild, sweet, meadow violets ? 

Ah, that vision of a woman ! 

Even the gods would turn to view her ! 
Jove might very well turn human 

Just to claim a kinship to her, 
As she sweeps with stately measure 

To the little wicker mart. 
' I will buy," — such tones of pleasure — 
" If with them you will but part, 
Some violets, blue violets, 
Common, wild, sweet, meadow violets ! " 
4 



LIFE—LO VE—NA TURE. 

And the blossoms seem to redden 

As she lays them to her lips, 
And their stems with joy to deaden 

At the warmth that meets their tips 
In her bosom's fragrant valley 

As they surge along the street, 
While the glances on them rally — 

Girl and flowers, sweet and sweet — 

Just violets, blue violets, 

Common, wild, sweet, meadow violets ! 
i* 



PICTURES IN AIR. 



A LITTLE child with sunny hair 
^* Drew with his finger in the air 
Pictures that none beside could see — 
Forts, castles, deeds of chivalry. 

As hour by hour he thus would trace, 
Plain grew the lineaments of each face ; 
The knight, the courser that he rode, 
On his transparent canvas glowed ! 

His gallery held no Claude Lorraines, 
No Gifford, with soft, sunset stains, 
No Ken sett, rich with autumn light, 
No Millet, gloaming into night. 

Ay, people smiled. They could not see 
The creatures of his reverie. 
Content, unconscious, artist rare, 
He drew his pictures in the air ! 
6 



LIFE — L VE — NA TURE. 
II. 

Now Beauty's spirit evanescent 

His manhood charms with fairy power ; 
What though he gives pursuit incessant, 

She only grants a smile or flower. 

She breaks the bonds of soft illusion 
He weaves to hold her form within, 

And smiles to bring his heart confusion 
Who still must woo, but may not win. 

Dear Art ! And yet unsatisfying 

For him who Beauty would ensnare ! 

They who portray her charm undying 
Still " write in water," paint in air. 

While they who seek her joys elysian 
Must catch the spirit's fleeting gleam, 

Else never know the artist's vision 
Nor see the glory of his dream. 



IN HIDDEN WAYS. 

O TRANGE is it that the sweetest thing 
^ Forever is the shyest ; 
The sweeter song, the swifter wing, 
Ere thou the singer spyest. 



The more the fragrance in the rose, 
The more it bends a-blushing ; 

And when with love a maiden glows, 
She hides the telltale flushing. 



In depths of night, in gloomy mine, 
In wildwood streams — in stories 

Of lowly lives, unsung— there shine 
The world's divinest glories. 



As low arbutus blossoms rest 

In modesty unbidden, 
So man and nature hide their best, 

And God himself is hidden. 



EACH DAY. 

f WATCH the sun at morning, and it shines with all 
* the gladness 

Of the million million happy eyes that greet its glorious 
birth. 
I gaze again at evening, and it gives back all the sadness 
Of the million million weary eyes that watch it sink to 
earth. 



PATIENCE. 

Y\ 7 HEN we look back at close of day, 
" * Whether it close in sun or rain, 
We yet can say : It is a way 

We shall not have to walk again. 

For should we live a hundred years — 
A life of praise, a life of blame, 

A life of joy, a life of tears — 
We would not see two days the same. 

Out of the vast, eternal store 
New duties and new joys arise : 

Strange clouds of grief shall gloom us o'er, 
Fresh bursts of hope shall clear the skies. 

Each day a gift ! And life is made 
Only of days, with gulfs between. 

To-day a burden ! Quick 't is weighed, 
And you shall have a day unseen. 

Sweet Patience ! Countless angel bands 
On urgent errands sweep the skies ; 

To-day but let me hold thy hands 
And gaze into thy steadfast eyes. 



OCTOBER. 

/^\H, swiftly forward flashed the train, 
^^ And rich the autumn foliage came, 
Until it seemed that past the pane 
October flew on wings of flame ! 



It was a joy to watch the gleam 
Of tender sky and tinted leaf ; 

The wind caressed the placid stream — 
It was a day for sweet belief. 

The woodbine, like a lover, wound 
The blushing oak with rosy arms ; 

The red leaves fluttering o'er the ground, 
Like couriers, spread the Frost's alarms. 



And then there came some faces fair 
Of old-time friends that well I knew- 

The sumacs, nodding, debonair, 
In schoolgirl hoods of ruddy hue. 



12 WAYSIDE MUSIC. 

The mellow fields of green and gray 
Told of the harvests they had borne ; 

Like golden bombs the pumpkins lay 
Amid the tasselled tents of corn. 



It was the time when chestnuts fall 
And early morning frosts the grass, 

When urchins in the orchards call 

And mock the crows that southward pass. 

I mused upon the season's flight 

From northern pines to southern seas, 

Leaving a path of color bright 
With gold and scarlet harmonies. 



Then Nature like a woman seemed, 

Whose work was done, and now was dressed 

In richest robes, and sat and dreamed 
Of maiden fancies long at rest. 



And next the landscape seemed to tell 
A tale of life — of mellow age, 

Of the rich fruit of doing well, 
And its eternal heritage. 



LIFE — LO VE — NA TURE. 1 3 

Ah ! could my Autumn be a scene 
As fair as smiled beneath that sun, 

With memories, crowding fast between, 
Of kindnesses received and done, — 



Then would I watch the glimmering pane, 
Nor wish the fields to farther roam, 

Nor would I ask to stop the train 
That daily brought me nearer home. 



THE CHRISTMAS GLOW. 



T T OW well it is that the Christmas-tide 

* A Comes not when valleys are decked in pride, 

When birds are joyous and fields are gay, 

But comes when the year is sad and gray ; 

When the cold wind cuts the wanderer's cheek, 

And makes the boughs in the forest creak ! 

Ah, sad would the winter be, 

And dreary for you and me, 
Were it not for the Christmas glow 
That shines on the fields of snow ! 



Twine bright leaves for the summer-time past, 
But the crown of the year is at the last ; 
When its passion is ended, its rest begun, 
And there 's no bale in the low, bright sun ; 
While over the snow floats the evergreen's breath 
Like a spirit triumphant over death. 
14 



LIFE — L VE—NA TURE. 1 5 

Then while we gladly give, 

Each Christmas that we live, 

We '11 keep in memory alway 

The wondrous gift of Christmas Day. 



in. 



Then wreathe the holly and laurel green, 
And let the mistletoe be seen 
Where nuts are cracked before the blaze, 
And children in the embers gaze ; 
While rosy apples heaped up high 
And all good cheer is standing by. 

Right gladly greet the timid knock ! 
A mendicant one may not mock, 
For in this humble mask 
The Saviour now doth ask. 



IV. 



Remember the manger so cold and bare, 
The breath of kine in the chilly air, 
And think how the Child, that shivering lay, 
Doth warm the hearts of the world to-day ! 
The great white star that bent to earth 
Kindled the Yule log on each hearth. 



1 6 WAYSIDE MUSIC. 

Sweet on the morning air 
Rose the fair young mother* sprayer, 
And the stars and the shepherds sang, 
And the round, blue heavens rang ! 



v. 



Then, children, wake and your carols sing, 
And thoughts as sweet as your faces bring, 
For hearts would freeze like the old, old year 
If the children did not bring them cheer ; 
For he who would the Kingdom win 
Must be " as a child " to enter in. 

Then glad shall the winter be — 
Each winter that we see — 
While the beautiful Christmas glow 
Shall shine o'er the fields of snow ! 



THREE TREES. 

'T'HE pine-tree grew in the wood — 
* Tapering straight and high ; 
Stately and proud it stood, 

Dark- green against the sky. 
Crowded so close it sought the blue 
And ever upward it reached and grew. 

The oak-tree stood in the field, 

Beneath it dozed the herds ; 
It gave to the mower a shield, 

It gave a home to the birds. 
Sturdy and broad, it watched the farms — 
Its knotted boughs like the mower's arms. 

The apple-tree grew by the wall — 

Ugly and crooked and black ; 
But it heard the gardener's call 

And the children rode on its back. 
It donned in the Spring a sweet, white cap, 
And dropped its treasures in Autumn's lap. 
17 



1 8 WAYSIDE MUSIC. 

" Now, hey," said the pine, for the wood ! 

" Come, live with the forest band. 
My comrades will do you good, 

And tall and straight you will stand." 
So he mocked the wind with merry shout 
And threw his cones like coin about. 

" Oh, ho," laughed the sturdy oak, 
" The life of the field for me ! 

I challenge the lightning stroke, 
My branches are broad and free. 

Grow tall and slim in the wood if you will. 

Give me the sun and a wind-swept hill." 

And the apple-tree murmured low : 
" I am neither straight nor strong ; 

Crooked my back doth grow 
With bearing its burdens long." 

But it dropped its fruit as it dropped a tear, 

And reddened the ground with goodly cheer. 

And the Lord of the Harvest heard, 
And He said : " I have need for all, 

For the bough that shelters a bird, 
For the beam that pillars a hall ; 

And grow they straight, or grow they ill, 

They grow but to wait their Master's will." 



LIFE — LO VE — NA TURE. 

So a ship of the oak was sent 

Far over the waters blue ; 
And the pine was the mast that bent 

As over the waves it flew ; 
And the ruddy fruit of the apple-tree 
Was sent to a starving isle of the sea. 

Now the farmer is strong like the oak, 
And the townsman is proud and tall, 

And city and field are full of folk, 
But the Lord has need of all ; 

And who will be like the apple-tree 

That fed the starving isle of the sea ? 



OLD TRINITY CHIMES. 

TIP above the dust and roar 
^ Hang the holy bells on high. 
O'er the city evermore, 

Hour by hour, their voices cry ; 

Teaching how to live and die, 
While the ages onward roll. 

List the hymn, O passer-by ! 
Jesus, lover of my soul. 

When the hands are tired of toil, 
When the weary feet would rest, 

When the strife and mad turmoil 
Make existence seem a jest : 
Welcome, music, heavenly guest ! 

Wafting down from out the sky 
Cadence of that sweet request — 

Let me to thy bosom fly. 

Sound the footsteps fast and loud 
Where the throng for riches lust, 

While they trample — foolish crowd- 
Golden moments into dust ! 
20 



LIFE—L VE — NA TURE. 2 1 

Shall I let them fade and rust, 
Quickly loosed from my control ? 

Give me first a patient trust, 
While the billows round me roll. 

Hang the holy bells on high, 

Far above the dust and heat ; 
Though I pass them, heedless, by, 

Faithfully they still repeat 

Many an admonition sweet 
From their station near the sky, 

Chanting of a rest complete 
While the tempest still is high. 



SUNDAY IN WALL STREET. 

CROM Broadway to the river's strand 
*■ The street in silence lies, 
Old Trinity, an upturned hand, 
Points finger to the skies. 

Now swells the invitation sweet 

From the soft-chiding bells, 
And footsteps sound in many a street 

Of stony parallels. 

No hand or sunlight warms to-day 
The wealth yon buildings hold ; 

On yonder steps there sits at play 
A child with hair of gold. 

Ah, fateful street ! Thy strife is loud 

When all thy dollars quake, 
And from their friction's dust the crowd 

Their various wages take. 

22 



LIFE — L VE—NA TURE. 2 3 

But more I love this Sabbath voice 

Whose softer accents say 
That higher wealth still moves the choice 

Of men to keep this day ; 

That not in vain do Heaven's rifts 

Shine in the children's eyes ; 
That not in vain the church-spire lifts 

Its finger to the skies. 



IN THE ATELIER. 

T N the studio vaulted with azure, 
* With the great flood of day streaming through, 
With a hundred fair objects about you 
And the work of the master in view, 

You lift the poor chisel and praise it ? 

And you 're very kind, so to choose ; 
But still I am only a chisel, 

Dull, ugly and battered with use. 

But I like you to praise her, the statue, 

The fair, moulded figure, the grace 
Of the drapery dropped from the shoulder, 

And above all the sweet spirit-face. 

Yes I 'm glad and I glory whenever 

I can give his ideals to fame 
For my master ; but then when I fail him, 

I feel I am wholly to blame. 

Then go, give your praise to the artist, 
And wonder, when you 're standing by, 

Not at fire that I strike in the marble, 
But that which enkindles his eye. 



24 



LOOKING FORWARD. 

A CLASSIC frieze of godlike forms 
** Moves on and on before my gaze, 
Their faces set to sun or storms, 

Hands clasped, no traveller stops nor stays. 

And so this chain of courier years 
Will bring the race its golden age, 

That glimmering hope that onward cheers, 
That glorifies the oldest page ; 

Faces that Phidias scarce had wrought, 
Forms that would make a Spartan gaze, 

Minds born to sovereignty of thought, 
Hearts tempered in a crucial blaze, 

Love on her throne and Self a slave, 
A willing slave ; this life of ours, 

Art, Science, borne on one great wave 
To nobler use, diviner powers ! 

Clasp closer hands, heroic forms ! 

Before, behind. Who would not fain 
Set faces stern to sun and storms 

To form a link in such a chain ! 



25 



WHO 'LL BUY GREATNESS ? 

{Father Time> Auctioneer^) 

V\ 7" HO will buy Greatness ? Give me a bid ! 
* ' Greatness, a jewel that cannot be hid ! 
Start it at something, don't all speak at once. 
You, sir, my man, you don't look like a dunce — 
Look at it carefully, turn it around, 
Tap on it — what a fine, echoing sound ! 
What is it, youngster? Oh, "work," says the boy. 
Thousands would give that for such a fine toy. 
"Ease," "patience," "sleep"? Well, that's a begin- 
ning. 
Hundreds say " happiness," but they 're not winning. 
" Books," " statues," " paintings " — I hear it from twenty — 
They are too common, you know I have plenty. 
" Wealth " ? Well, to you that may mean a great deal. 
" Health " ? Ah, now really it seems that you feel ! 
What is that ? You would be Anarchy's tool ? 
And you, sir ? For Greatness he 'd gladly play fool ! 
Warriors — statesmen — your blood and your brain ? 
Come, this won't answer, you must bid again. 
What ? Give you Greatness for such a poor store ? 

26 



LIFE — LO VE—NA TURE. 2J 

You know in your hearts that you think it worth more. 
" Life," " friends " and " honor " ? Oh, that is not dear ; 
"Home," "wife" and "children"? Come, sir, speak 

up clear. 
Going, now — "faith " — "hope " — that 's a bit nigher ! 
Oh, gentlemen, cannot you go a point higher ? 
Now, now — you would make an old auctioneer weep. 
Just look at it — Greatness — and going so cheap ! 

You, there, on the edge, now, I just want to ask, 
As you go to your lowly and poorly paid task, 
Don't you want it ? No ? Then to you I will give it. 
That 's the only way, friends, you can get it — is, live it 



A PARABLE. 



A MERRY streamlet flowed along, 
**• As cheery as a mower's song ! 
Its face was brave, its waves were bright, 
And broke in drops of diamond light. 
Over its bosom, all the way, 
The blossoms bent in sweet array ; 
It gave them kisses, cool and fleet, 
Which left them still more pure and sweet ! 
This traveller was so strong and true 
That it would any service do. 
Though it enlisted every brook, 
It always gave as well as took, 
And in its life of gracious giving 
It daily grew to greater living. 



A pool of water, stagnant, still, 

Lay listlessly beneath a hill. 

It served no purpose, save to nurse 

28 



LIFE — LO VE — NA TURE. 29 

Vile weeds which made its visage worse ; 

For foulness showed upon its face 

And beauty shrank from all the place. 

On nature's fairness 't was a blot, 

A most unwholesome, evil spot, 

And all because it idle lay, 

Contented in itself, all day ! 

Supplied by a few little rills, 

It locked them up among the hills, 

And always asking, never giving, 

It daily died and thought it living ! 



ROLL-CALL. 

/^VER the waving willows 
^-^ And marble stones a-row, 
Over the grass-green billows 

Where heroes lie below, 
Thrilling the soldiers' pillows, — 

Listen ! the bugles blow ! 

Where are the forms that rested 

After the twilight fell, 
Whose valor and love were tested 

In fire like the fire of hell ? 
Where are the men who breasted 

Shivering shot and shell ? 

All the old idols broken, 

Safety and ease they spurned. 

What shall we tender, for token, 
Hearts that so highly burned ? 

Reverently be it spoken : 
Give them the love they earned. 
30 



LIFE—L VE—NA TURE. 3 1 

Not till the morn of glory 

Touches each hallowed spot, 
Washing their wounds so gory 

Fit for their brighter lot, 
Ever shall fade their story 

Though kings be long forgot ! 

Yet in each banner swelling 

Its folds against the sky, 
In every tear-drop welling 

From every patriot eye, 
To-day, their vigil telling, 

Each answers : Here am I. 



THE RACE. 

'T'HE start, the strain, the springing, 
* The leap, the flight, the winging ! 
The roll of footsteps spurning 
The footpath toward us turning ! 
The white goal growing nearer, 
The huzzas sounding clearer, 
The spurt, the fierce contending — 
The rush, the ease, the ending ! 

The glow of victory feeling, 
The sounds of triumph pealing, 
The one fair face all beaming, 
And dark eyes passion gleaming ; 
The white breast quickly heaving — 
The wreath of her own weaving — 
All make us greet our inning 
And make the race worth winning ! 



32 



MAID WITH THE EYES OF NIGHT. 

MAID with the eyes of Night, — 
Sweet Night, the mother of Morn,- 
How may I read thee aright, 

So to escape thy scorn ? 
What is it makes thee bright 

When others are weary and worn ? 
Maid with the eyes of Night — 
Sweet Night, the mother of Morn ! 

Teach me to open my heart, 

Like thine, to the ocean of blue, 
Till the selfish banks fall apart 

And the tide of Love rushes through ; 
Till the waves of the great Sea dart 

And fill all the channel anew. 
Teach me to open my heart, 

Like thine, to the ocean of blue. 



33 



IN A DOVE-COTE. 

T TNHEEDING the world's strange voices, 
^ We bide in our safe retreat ; 
Each in the other rejoices, 
Softly our pledge we repeat : 

To you I *m true ; 

I too, to you ; 

Then woo anew ; 

I do, I do I 

We fly and alight together, 

We kiss, though we may not sing, 
And thrill at the touch of a feather 
Or waft of a soft gray wing. 
Art true ? Art true ? 
Are you ? Are you ? 
Then woo, then woo ! 
I do, I do ! 

When the Love-Queen tied us together 

And gathered the snowy rein, 
She told us, whatever the weather, 

We never must part again. 
34 



LIFE—LO VE—NA TURE. 3 5 

' Tis true, 7 is true ; 
To me and you j 
Then woo anew j 
I do, I do! 

For our creed is plain and single, 

And this we think is best : 
Two lives, one love, to mingle, 
Two birds to fill one nest. 
To you I'm true j 
I too, to you; 
Then woo anew j 
I do, Idol 



THE FAIR COPY-HOLDER. 

Vf ON window frames her like a saint 
* Within some old cathedral rare ; 
Perhaps she is not quite so quaint, 
And yet I think her full as fair. 

All day she scans the written lines, 

Until the last dull proof is ended, 
Calling the various words and signs 

By which each error may be mended. 

An interceding angel, she, 

'Twixt printer's press and author's pen ; 
Perhaps she 'd find some fault in me ! 

Say, maiden, can you not read men ? 

Methinks 't is time you learned this art 
Which makes the world's wide page read better, 

For love needs proving, heart with heart, 
As well as type with written letter. 



36 



FAME. 

T GAZED upon tall, dusty shelves, 

* Where gilded volumes, stiffly standing, 

Looked comfortless as we ourselves 

Would be on such a crowded landing ; 

And though so costly and commanding, 
I could but say : What 's in a name ? 

Hid where the bookworm's tooth is branding, 
Methinks I do not care for Fame. 

I found a woman, unaware, 

A faded scrap-book slowly turning, 
Unheeded fell the gold-brown hair, 

Her eyes with gentle light were burning. 

And as they raised in tender yearning, 
And soft she breathed a poet's name, 

I realized that I was learning 
That after all I cared for Fame. 



37 



A LADY IN THE WEST. 

DEYOND the sunset, see, she stands 
*-* With eyes agleam with holy light, 
With grace from unimagined lands, 

With purpose pure, with beauty bright ! 
Sink gently, sun, before those eyes, 

And let her dream 't is Paradise. 

Beyond the sunset, safe from harm, 
O let her in her musing weave 

Some thought of me as dear and warm 
As twilight brought to blushing Eve — 

Sweet premonitions of the night, 
Without a longing for the light. 

Beyond the sunset now the beams 

Touch all her warm brown hair to gold ; 

Methinks I see it as it gleams, 

And quite forget this dark and cold, 

And gladly know, in evening's gloom, 
Her westward skies still brightly bloom ! 



33 



THE TRAIN. 

TJARK! 
* * It comes ! 
It hums ! 
With ear to ground 
I catch the sound, 
The warning, courier roar 
That runs along before. 
The pulsing, struggling now is clearer, 
The hillsides echo — nearer, nearer — 
Till with a rush like fleeing, frightened cattle, 
With dust and wind and clang and shriek and rattle, 
Passes the Cyclops of the train ! 
And there 's a fair face at a pane. 
Like a piano string 
The rails, unburdened, sing ; 
The white smoke flies 
Up to the skies ; 
The sound 
Is drowned. 
Hark! 



39 



WISTARIA. 

'"THE standard-bearer of the Spring, 
* I mark your conquest of the leas, 
As with courageous front you fling 
Your graceful pennons to the breeze. 

If lawn or garden chance to show 

Unsightly rock or ugly wall, 
You seek it out and kinglike throw 

Your royal purple over all. 

The boldest lover scarce would climb 
As high as you to lady's bower ; 

Yet, bending low, full many a time 
You reach a little child a flower ! 

The south wind bears your conquering train 
Of perfume over towns and farms ; 

Your couriers are the sun and rain, 
The bumble-bees your knights-at-arms. 

Each year your sweet invasion brings 

The memories of long ago, 
Yet through a thousand future Springs 

Your flags shall wave, your trumpets blow. 



40 



QUATRAINS. 

WITH MRS. CRAIK'S POEMS. 

FMAMOND, ruby, amethyst, pearl, — 
*-^ A woman's gift to you, my girl ; 
So rich, so rare, whene'er you string them 
Forget how poor am I who bring them. 

THE CLIFF WALK, NEWPORT. 

Those princely homes with flowers and stretching lea 
But emphasize the beauty of the sea ; 
Like some great book whose ocean vistas smile 
Whene'er we turn its covers — like a stile ! 

AT WASHINGTON. 

Great avenues that lead from dome to dome 

The loyal pilgrims to their nation's home ; 

Yet over all a glamour like a veil — 

The patriot's name that makes its other glories pale. 

COMPENSATION. 

One loving word from tongue or pen, 
To lift our lives above their sighing, 

Is worth a world of weeping when 
Our lips are hushed beyond replying. 
4* 41 



CRADLE SONG. 

O WISH and swing ! Sivish and swing I Through the 
yellow grain 
Stoutly moves the cradler to a low refrain, 
While the swaying blades of wheat tremble to his sweep 
Till he lays them carefully in a row to sleep ; 
And he feels a mystic rhyme 
Makes his cradle swing in time 

To the rocking of the baby by the door. 

Swish and swing ! Swish and swing ! So the cheeks grow 

red ; 
Bowls are filled with porridge, and ovens piled with 

bread ; 
Bossy claims the middlings, and coltie eats the bran ; 
Chicky gets the screenings, and birdie all he can. 
So the cradle's harvest rhyme 
Keeps the reaper's stroke in time 

With the cradle that is rocking by the door. 

Thus the golden harvest falls to yield the precious 

wheat. 
Life is golden, too, alas ! but only love is sweet. 

42 



LIFE — L VE — NA TURE. 43 

Labor for the fireside is the royal crown to wear, 
And Love that gave the harvest will give each heart its 
share, 
While the reaper swings in time, 
Like a loving, tender rhyme, 

To the rocking of the cradle by the door. 

Swish and swing ! Swish and swing ! Ah, the good old 

sound, 
Harvest note of gladness all the world around ! 
Hear the cradles glancing on the hilly steep ; 
Hear the little rocker where baby lies asleep — 
Gentle, universal rhyme 
Of the reaper keeping time 

With the rocking of the cradle by the door. 



THOMAS'S BATON. 

CRAIL bridge, that joins the viewless lands 
* Of silence and of sound ; 
Mute summoner, at whose commands 

The hours with joy are crowned ; 
While Harmony, with flower-filled hands, 

Floats like an angel round ! 

Or is thy sweep like scythes that play 

When all the meadows ring, 
And dying blade and blossom gay 

Give sweetest offering ? 
So sweetness springs when thou dost sway 

Each voice and trembling string. 

Thine, too, the genius of the rod 

That cleft the sea in twain 
When Israel walked between, dryshod, 

And all her foes were slain : 
Care-freed, we walk the way she trod, 

Through music's conquered main ! 
44 



LIFE—LO VE—NA TURE. 45 

Strange wand, with wondrous power imbued, 

Teach me thy magic ways ; 
Serve mine, as thy great master's, mood, 

And sounds of Heaven raise ! 
I take thee up, thou art but wood, 

And mockest at my praise. 



THE HARBOR LIGHT. 



O EEKING the harbor's gate 
^ In the dark night and late, 
Beating against the wind 
And dashing waves that blind, 
One hope the pilot cheers 
As wearily he nears 
The noble, land-locked bay : 
That now, with steady ray, 
Shines out, serene and far — 
A homeward-beckoning star — 
The Harbor Light. 

ii. 

Through what unmeasured miles, 
Past what unnumbered isles, 
Must we still sail or drift 
In calms or tempest swift ? 
How often shall we find 
Our reckoning false and blind ? 
How often at us stare 
Wild Hunger, Thirst, Despair ! 
Yet, o'er the unknown miles, 
Still beckons, cheers and smiles 
The Harbor Light. 
46 



A PICTURE. 

T T OW can I paint a face that is so fair 

* * That none may know its grace until they see it ? 

Yet should you dream of any face so rare 

It seemed all goodness, that would surely be it. 

No bright-eyed girl, although she once was such, 
Is she I sing. Time her girl-beauty stole, 

And since has drawn with soft artistic touch 
The wrinkles that reveal her gentle soul. 

Kind charity — which seems almost to cheat 
Her hate of sin by loving still the sinner — 

Beams from her eyes, gray eyes, that, though so sweet, 
Scarce hint the depths of tenderness within her. 

She always sees some good in every one, — 
And all are glad for this to be her debtor ; 

Her coming brings the radiance of the sun, 
And yet she hardly knows she makes us better. 

47 



48 WAYSIDE MUSIC. 

Kind, sympathetic face ! In smiles or tears, 

I cannot see such good in any other, 
Nor better tell the tie that so endears 

Than just to write her name, and that is — Mother. 

And so with silver cord that naught can sever, 
And set in my unworthy frame of rhyme, 

Praying that God may keep it bright forever, 
I hang her picture on the walls of Time. 



TO E. C. S. 

(On reading " The Nature and Elements of Poetry.") 

/^\UR Critic-Poet ! Who shall henceforth say 

^-^ That Poetry has fled — an unknown way ? 

When Philistines declare the Muse is dead 

You point to skies all radiant, overhead ; 

And if 't is needful, to convince some fool, 

Bring out the scales, the crucible and rule ! 

On pleasant terms the Scientist you meet ; 

Mount up on wings instead of measuring feet ; 

Show how the blood in poets' hearts doth spring 
And lilt so gladly they are bound to sing ; 

Trace the great epic lines of Earth and Time 
And find the universe is writ in rhyme. 
Yet when you 're through with arguing the case- 
When for the flower is wrought the precious vase — 
When we are schooled to know a perfect art, 
Grant us, once more, a song to thrill the heart ! 
Then strike the harp, whose strings so fine and clear, 
Give us the final proof we love to hear ; 
One noble verse shall prove the rabble wrong, 
And add new laurels to immortal Song. 



49 



TO J. C. R. D. 

A She who tills another's acres leaves 
-**■ To the rich owner half the golden sheaves, 
So would I share, with gratitude, the yield 
Of grace and solace from thy " Fallow Field." 



50 



EMERSON. 



QHALL that fine face be vainly sought, 

^ The brightest of the poet brothers, 

The plowshare of whose shining thought 

Broke such a fertile way for others ? 



When the old bell his good years rang, 
Musketaquit, where journeyed he ? 

Alas, the sister stream he sang 
Has borne him to a calmer sea. 



On Walden pond the ripples flow, 
And Sleepy Hollow will not wake, 

While old Monadnock looks below, 
Serene as when its poet spake. 

May not their calm content declare 
They still can see him in his haunts, 

Or have they learned his lesson rare — 
" The silent organ loudest chants " ? 
5i 



52 WAYSIDE MUSIC. 

Enough that when we leave the marts 
To seek the wealth unfound in strife, 

We need not look beyond our hearts 
To find the influence of his life. 



From scenes of noise and turmoil shrinking, 
To homely fields his fame he brought. 

Life seemed to him worth deepest thinking ; 
So, for the thoughtless crowd, he thought ! 



ON SUNSET RIDGE. 

/^\N sunset ridge my lady sleeps. 
^^ As nightly sweeps 
The shadow-throng from out the east, 
All hushing — man and bird and beast — 
And stars of night 
Begin to light — 
The gems of that far canopy, 
The great, blue, upper-world of sky — 
I think their million rays have wrought 
Some secret entrance to her thought, 
And through it shining, 
Each night refining, 

Make her so like the light that doth endure, 
So fresh, so dear, so bright, so true, so pure ! 
Even as the heavens seem to gently bend 
These homestead acres to their skyey trend, 
Curving the fields up to a swelling dome, 
Lifting to Eden-views the human home, 
So, too, that vault of blue 
Invites and moulds more true, 
Like to itself, as if it were a part, 
Her own unchanging, strong, transparent heart. 
5* 53 



54 WAYSIDE MUSIC, 

On sunset ridge there shines a light. 

In day or night 

I shall not look for it in vain ; 

Love's beacon braves the wind and rain, 

Nor is there dark 

Can dim that mark 

To one storm -driven, homeward bark. 

How love can beautify the ground ! 

Or make the solemn heavens around, 

Or hills, or trees, or murmuring sea, 

All seem a part of home, of thee ! 

The sweet, good mother, 

And sire, and brother, 

And she, the friend and sister, sister-friend, 

All borrow from the light that thou dost lend. 



O long and often may their footsteps tend 
Up to those fields where precious memories sleep, 
Up to those halls where sons and daughters keep 
Old faith, old love, old hope in man's career, 
Like old wine, in stout hearts, for others' cheer ! 
Long may the hilltop light salute the town, 
With bright reminder of its old renown ! 
Long may its sons and daughters sleep and wake 
While beauteous suns shall daily set or break 
On sunset ridge. 



"KEEP TO THE RIGHT." 

" \/ EEP to the right and keep moving," it said, — 

*^ The little white card, like a stone for the dead, 
The dead who but yesterday, 'neath a blue sky, 
Heard laughter and jest drown their muffled death-cry. 

Then it sang in the wind and was lisped by the river, 
And the words in the wires of the bridge seemed to 

quiver, 
And it gleamed in the stars as if nature were proving 
The motto of " Keep to the right and keep moving." 

Keep to the right and keep moving through life, 
Remember there 's nothing so needless as strife : 
Thus the words of the warning sound clear in the air 
As I haste to the heart that I love over there. 

A pathway is hung o'er an untravelled river, 

It reaches from now to the ever and ever, 

And the night hears my wonder, my question, my 

prayer, — 
Will I meet with the heart that I love over there ? 



55 



WRITTEN ON A SEASHELL. 

CROM yonder sailor on the foam 
* The sea some mystery still doth keep ; 
From him who makes the hills his home 
Some mountain's secret hideth deep. 
But where the land and billows meet 
Each unto each their tales repeat. 
The breakers roar : Forevermore ! 
Forevermore ! replies the shore. 
And listening here, there rises clear 
The sweet, sad music of the sphere : 
Hearts, like the billows, throbbing, breaking ; 
Love, like the echoes, dying, waking ! 



56 



WELCOME. 

C. L. K. 

YXJ ELCOME from absence all too long, 

' " Singer, whose name with music thrills ! 
Welcome, the voice whose silver song 
Has lately linked all Europe's hills ! 

We wait, as Spring waits for the birds, 

Until again thy voice we hear, 
Wedded to soft Italian words, 

Or homelike melodies more dear. 

Gaze on familiar field and lake, — 
Let every mountain, stream and bay 

T.hy memory to music wake, 
Like robins that return in May. 

America is proud of thee, 

Her singer, and though far above 

Our praises thy deserving be, 

There 's nothing yet too high to love ! 



57 



" FOR POETS ONLY." 

" A POET for poets." 'T was said, years ago, 

** When his fame first arose in the East — even so. 
But the ranks of the poets soon multiplied fast — 
The poets who read — and 't was said at the last, 
When his books sold by thousands when damp from the 

press : — 
" It 's worth while to write just for poets, we guess ! " 

A poet for poets ! Well, how could there be 
An artist to any who Art could not see ? 
Can loveliest stanza enrapture the ear 
Unless one shall first be a poet to hear ? 
Go, ask any bard in the East or the West, 
Is praise from a poet not always the best ? 

" Ah, we know what you mean — silent poets — the throng 
Who drink in the music but utter no song ! " 
They are poets, in truth, yet I love the heart-glow 
Of those who have served at the altar, who know 
The thrill and the yearning, when, in the still night, 
A whisper-voice tells them to rise and to write. 



58 



SARATOGA. 

( Written for the Dedication of the Battle Monument at 
Schuylersville, N. Y.) 

TJ ISTORIC Hudson ! Haste not by to-day ! 
•*• -*• More gently let thy waters take their way, 

As on thy banks we dedicate 

This shaft unto the dead, the great, 
Whose memory, like thy stream, a shining story, 
Shall broaden to a boundless sea of glory. 

The dwellers in Manhattan's crowded mart 
May here see Nature play her silent part. 

The stream that brings them wealth 

Here steps with bashful stealth, 
Soft, as in moccasins an Indian maiden, 
Its breast with trees, like tresses, overladen. 

As now from many a path in life you meet, 
The hills in their immortal verdure greet, 
Come with me in my boat of rhyme, 
Come and ascend the stream of time, 
Back when the nation was a century newer 
And held true heroes, though her sons were fewer. 
59 



60 WAYSIDE MUSIC. 

Quiet for many a year has here been found — 
The wild bird feared no martial sight nor sound. 

Under the peaceful fields, well-kept, 

The ashes of the soldier slept, 
With summer's guard of tasselled corn around, 
And winter's snow-shroud hallowing the ground. 

On yonder plain, where Burgoyne's grenadiers 
Laid down the arms they loved, with bitter tears, 

The armies of the grass and grain 

Have struggled o'er and o'er again, 
In changing regiments of green and yellow, 
Through lusty June, through August, ripe and mellow. 

Honor the past ! Already has there flown 
From Saratoga and from Horicon 

All but their names — whose gentle sounds 

Still linger round the burial mounds — 
Of that dark race, which, ever westward flying, 
Now, like a sunset's light, is slowly dying. 

The modern spirit would itself demean 
Did we not flock, to-day, to such a scene ; 

For from the nation's rugged past, 

The rude days when her fate was cast, 
Has flowed the stream that makes all men draw near her, 
The Freedom that has made the world revere her. 



LIFE — LO VE—NA TURE. 6 1 

Here fell the blow that made oppression reel, 
And set on Freedom's cause its brightest seal. 

Honor to Schuyler, Morgan, Gates, 

The victors over threatening fates, 
And praise for him whose niche has but a name, 
Too valiant to forget, too base for fame ! 

Honor to every nameless, fallen one ! 

Honor them all, each one the country's son ! 
Stone for their fitting monument 
From many a State has here been sent, 

And every block that lifts its tapering spire 

Is sacred as if touched with holy fire. 

First on this soil the flag we love to name 
Flew in the wind, a never-dying flame ! 

Giving a heart-beat to the land, 

Binding it with a silken band — 
An amulet where'er its name is spoken — 
'Gainst which no sword shall ever fall unbroken ! 

And when this ceremonial pomp shall pass, 

And undisturbed shall glow and fade the grass, 
While storm and sun and shadow chase 
Across each bronze, stern-featured face, 

Yet shall this place to many a one be dear ; 

And Liberty shall love to linger here ! 
6 



62 WAYSIDE MUSIC. 

To multitudes who come with pilgrim feet 
The sculptured tablets will their tales repeat : 
Again in fancy will be seen 
The redcoats on the meadows green, 
And Jane McCrea shall leave her pillow gory, 
Or hearts be moved by Lady Acland's story. 

For she whose love was greater than her fears, 
Who sought our camp and conquered it with tears, 
Was but a type of woman's heart — 
Which ever bravely plays its part — 
Which soothes in peace, in war gives cheering word, 
Melts lead to ball and reaches down the sword ! 

Long may our tribute to the brave endure, 
Here where the winds and waters journey pure, 

And give to all who on it gaze 

The spirit of those olden days, 
When love of right and liberty unbound 
The strongest clasp that loved ones threw around. 

Speak ! Sons of Saratoga here to-day! 
Shall it not be this valley's boast to say : 

The soil of Saratoga sends 

The kind of man that never bends, 
Whether in council hall a vote he wield 
Or grasps a gun upon a battlefield ? 



LIFE—LO VE—NA TURE. 63 

And you, fair village, with your skyward spires, 
Your leisurely canal, your factory fires, 

Keep for yourself as fair a fame 

As his, who gave to you a name— 
The courtly, soldier-gentleman who now, 
Kindly in bronze, meets you with open brow. 

England ! a foe no longer, peace to thee ! 
A common lineage throbs beneath the sea ; 

And though this day brings nearer heart 

The nation's friends who took our part, 
We send to her who rules thy fair demesnes 
Greeting from sixty million kings and queens ! 

The nation that forgets its Marathon 
Has lost the choicest glory it has won. 

Then let this granite shaft of grace 

Forever be a rallying-place 
For liberty and honor, till the day 
The stone is dust, the river dried away ! 

And when, a century hence, this column hath 
Whirled with the world through space its spiral path, 

And men of grander, later days, 

With faces strange, upon it gaze ; 
'T will draw our thought, like lightning from the skies : 
The man who dies for country never dies! 



DIONDEHOWA RIVER, 
i. 

!" ATE the sun had left the heavens, day into the night 
*— ' was flowing, 
As I wandered through the meadow to the hollow 'neath 

the hill ; 
Where the never-resting river ever murmurs in its going, 
Charming all its way with music as it journeys to the 

mill. 

Pausing then a while to listen to its sad and mystic singing, 
Wonder stole me and the moment seemed to thrill with 

meaning strange ; 
For the rushing of the river seemed a voice forever 

ringing 
Deepest truths of human destiny and thoughts beyond 

my range. 

Softly then I trod the margin as I stole down near and 

nearer, 
Holding to the willow branches as I bent down to the 

wave ; 

64 



LIFE—LO VE — NA TURE. 6$ 

While a voice rose through the water with a silver ca- 
dence clearer 

Than was ever heard by Triton in his starry ocean 
cave ! 

Long I listened to the quiring of this nymph that sang so 

sweetly 
That she burdened all the valley from the mountains to 

the sea. 
And she spoke a subtle language, that enchanted me 

completely, 
This is but a feeble echo of the song she sang to me : 

SONG. 

" Willows, bending o'er my shallows, nesting birds that sing 

above me, 
Sedgy marshes fringing round me, rocks that frown upon 

my way ; 
Stars that gaze upon my bosom, trembling as if you did 

love me, 
Look with pity on my fortune, list with pity to my lay. 

" For the fleet sun hath outrun me, and the day hath gone 

and left me, 
And the night-winds come on quickly, stealing down into the 

vale j 
6* 



66 WAYSIDE MUSIC. 

All my gladness, all my laughter, all my beauty is bereft 

me, 
While the shores hold frightful shadows, and the trees 

groan in the gale. 

11 Still I hurry Mindly onward, and a distant roaring tells 

me 
I a?n coming to the cataract, I hear its awful moan j 
Yet I cannot pause a moment for a mystic power compels 

me, 
Ever tearing me away whene'er I cling around a stone. 

" O ye forests and ye night-winds, and ye birds above me 

dreaming, 
And ye stars that shine so tenderly, as always ye have 

shone, 
Pity her who wanders darkly with no sunlight on her 

streaming, 
Pity her who journeys sadly through the gloomy night 

alone." 

ii. 

Day had raised its golden sceptre, and the sun was gayly 

riding 
With tidings from the eastern seas to mountains in the 

west, 



LIFE— LOVE— NATURE. fy 

When again I crossed the meadow to the river calmly 

gliding 
On its now apparent mission, to its long eternal rest. 

For it hasted gayly onward and it laughed at all de- 
tainers, 

As it sped o'er shining shallows, as it rippled o'er the 

stones ; 
And it served all men with patience, caring not if they 

were gainers, 
Only bound to blend its music with the ocean's organ-tones 

Joyously the waves leapt forward, flowers upon their 

bosoms floating, 
Birds sang flying o'er its surface, willows trembled with 

delight ; 
Beauty was so glad about me I had near forgotten noting 
If I still might hear the singing of the naiad of the night. 

Then I listened for the music while the shadows slowly 
shifted, 

Till I slept beside the waters, drowsiness had changed to 
dream ; 

When again arose the voice, as if the river's heart was 
rifted ! 

O that I might sing the words as did the spirit of the 
stream. 



68 WAYSIDE MUSIC. 

SONG. 

u Gladly , gladly I am gliding, fearing naught of ill or sorrow, 
Now that light doth lead me on I see the grandeur of the way j 
Tell me not that night will darken, tell me not of a to-morrow, 
Till I have fulfilled the duty and the mission of to-day. 

" Fare ye well, my native mountains, from your bosoms ye 

have fed me, 
Memory shall hold you dearest of the treasures she has won j 
But I would not tarry longer, not in vain the Hand hath 

led me, 
Work is waiting for my effort, nature needs me further on. 

" O how sweet to trust completely that the best is still be- 
fore us, 

Letting all our life run forward with a faith that naught 
can foil, 

Knowing that the stars and blossoms and the holy angels 
o'er us 

Are but brighter shining comrades in love's brotherhood of 
toil! 

" As the channel widens, deepens, I ain charmed by higher 

beauty, 
In the bearing others' 1 burdens, making others' sorrows mine ; 
joyfully my current rushes 'twixt the guiding banks of duty, 
And, thou ocean, gladly will I lose my little life in thine." 



IN LIGHTSOME MOOD. 



AT FIRST SIGHT. 

T T AST thou a heart, O deep-eyed girl, 
*■ * To match that glance of thine ? 
Hast thou a soul as rich and sweet, 
And may I call it mine ? 

I have no heart, O blue-eyed boy, 

I am a maid forlorn ; 
For I dreamed of you and lost my heart 

Long years ere I was born. 

I have thy heart, O dark-eyed maid, 

And hard within my breast 
It leaps to meet its owner sweet 

That it may be at rest. 

And I have thine, O fair-eyed lad, 

It flutters like a feather. 
Then, since they may not be exchanged, 

Let 's keep them close together ! 



ON MARY'S FAIRNESS. 

{Imitation of Her rick?) 

"C EW are the sights so fair 
* As Mary when she goes 
Out in the morning air 
To pluck a dewy rose. 

Then at her table-tasks 

She looks so sweet and wise, 

It seems to me she asks 
A blessing with her eyes. 

But she may look most fair, 
My fancy hath confest, 

When, hiding in her hair, 
She lays her down to rest. 

Whether she combs her curls, 
Or smiles, or smells her rose, 

She is the queen of girls — 
And that, perhaps, she knows ! 



70 



HESPERIDES. 

(~\ MAIDEN with unclouded brow, 
^^ Whose thoughts are words too fine to speak, 
Come, let thine eyes pour for me now 
The stream that hides the pearls I seek ! 

Then will I search its depths, and string 

An amulet to set us free, 
To seek the clime where naught can bring 

A feeble counterfeit of thee. 

I know the way to Love's own land ; 

I told the rose to scent the gales ; 
A dream shall bear us to its strand, 

And Fancy tend the shining sails. 

It rises fair, the Isle of Bliss, 

Where Love and Thought shall be our slaves, 
And each uncounted smile and kiss 

Shall come and go like summer waves. 

Come, love, our vessel frets the sand, 

That waits impatient for thy feet ; 
A quiet walk, a yielded hand — 

And now we know that life is sweet. 



7i 



A PERFECT HEART. 

A PERFECT heart. Ah, tell me where 
This jewel lies that I would wear. 
If in your breast it be not found 
I will not look in other ground, 
But yield me up to my despair. 
So many hearts, the world around, 
Yield to the touch a hollow sound, 
I feel that I shall never snare 
A perfect heart. 

I will not search in upper air 
If yours be not beyond compare, 

Yet mine with yours would fain be bound. 
Perhaps the two, in union crowned, 
Might form that wonder, sweet and rare, 
A perfect heart. 



72 



COMMUNICATION. 

A S trees that many a vale and hill 
** Divide, yet, standing by one stream, 

May, through its subtle current, seem 
To hold communication still ; 

So, Friend, my thought flows fast and free, 
A constant current none may note, 
Except when on its flood I float 

A letter, like a leaf, to thee. 



73 



NEEDLESS. 

^HERE is no need forme to tell 
*■ What blossom has the happy lot 
To match the eyes whose glances spell : 
Forget-me-not. 

And as they cannot but succeed 

In that remembrance which they plot, 
I see no need for them to pleader 
Forget-me-not ! 



74 



TO A BEAUTY. 

Y\ 7HEN we pass by a flower on our way 
* * Does it matter at all if we say 
It is winsome and fair 
And it perfumes the air 
And its beauty enriches the day ? 

No, a rose is a rose just the same, 

Though we give it our praise or our blame ; 

For its charm is complete, 

And it lives to be sweet, 
Like a lady I need not to name ! 

So a wish and a blessing I send her, 
May the angels and fairies attend her, 

And turn every dart 

In her journey apart, 
With her beauty alone to defend her. 



75 



THE GOLDEN AGE. 

MY love and I laugh o'er the page 
That tells the varied story- 
How love ran in the Golden Age — 
We care not for its glory. 

Idly we read how earthly maids 
Entangled Jove, the mighty, 

Or how Adonis in the glades 
Played with fair Aphrodite. 

Pan the sweet river-nymph may woo, 

Pygmalion, Galatea ; 
Our love is just as sweet and true 

As theirs by blue ^Egea. 

Nor lacks it the enchanting power 
That blends divine with human ; 

My love will change at any hour 
To goddess or to woman ! 

Thus love's eternal heritage 
Illumes our modern portals. 

Cupid and Psyche know not age, 

And we, too, are immortals. 

76 



BY THE BROOK. 

J\ /I Y life dates newly from a look 
* * * That lit the gem of Memory's hours 
The day we wandered up the brook 
In quest of summer flowers. 

We stood a little way apart 

Upon a shady, grassy rise, 
When all the beauty of your heart 

Came rushing to your eyes ; 

A look so full of trust and truth, 
Transparent, pure as virgin gold, 

It spoke more eloquence, in sooth, 
Than tongue could e'er have told. 

And yet, my love, if e'er by chance, 
You learn the language of the birds, 

Then tell the message of that glance 
In sweet, unworldly words. 



77 



AN OCTOBER BIRTHDAY. 

f~\ GENTLE maid, whose charms outshine 
^-^ The queenly month that bore thee, 
Look kindly on these gifts of mine 
That now I lay before thee. 

Here 're chestnuts ! Not the ancient puns 

That make one sad and sober, 
But nuts that ripened in the suns 

Of your own bright October. 

The very color of your eyes 

Their glossy shells are sporting ; 

Their burr a heart that open flies 
When bold Jack Frost is courting. 

Who would not brave the wildest sea 

In such well-armored vessel, 
Or even wish a nut to be 

In such a spot to nestle ! 

As for these late blue flowers, I wot 

Your glances, far from cruel, 
Will make each a forget-me-not, 

And so a fadeless jewel. 

78 



A MASQUE OF SINGERS. 

The silent concert hall, the empty stage and dark, 

And has their music vanished ? Heart and memory, hark ! 

A. P. AND S. S. 

f~\ BRING again the brightness and the glory, 
^-^ The haunting rapture of the " Trovatore " ;- 
They, the two artists, striving for the prize, 
Winging their voices up to Verdi's skies ! 

c. N. 

A voice so lovely and a form so queenly, 
And yet the world lets you sing on serenely ! 
I would not think a king would be deterred 
From risking empires to cage such a bird ! 

E. T. 

Moore's gem beneath her vocal genius glows, — 
Upon her breast a scarlet-petalled rose ! 
Which swelled more sweetly as her voice out-rang, 
The rose she wore, or the " Last Rose " she sang ? 

79 



80 WAYSIDE MUSIC, 



H. M. S. 



She but a girl, that fountain, music playing ? 
Yet there are fairy forces round her straying ; 
Something of bird and something more than woman, 
Let me believe her more than simply human ! 



A MASQUE OF POETS. 

Lifting a leaflet to their air I drew 

Their love and Godspeed, kindly as the dew. 

D. M. C. 

QHE who wrote " Philip," tenderest of songs, 
^ And nobly interwove on fiction's page 

Wise woman-counsel, worthy of a sage, 
With honest love that now her fame prolongs. 

L. M. A. 

This one, demure as if in Sister's hood, 
Hid her ambition in her tales for good. 
But round her how the children's faces shine — 
Madonna-like — an aurole divine ! 

M. M. D. 

For songs, like blossoms, strewn " along the way," 
For tales that make us youthful all the day, 
For these must rise an incense of the heart, 
And reach thee, always, whereso'er thou art. 



82 WAYSIDE MUSIC. 



E. M. H. 



Something of wildwood grace her figure thrills- 
Shy as arbutus on her native hills, — 
But ask me not to paint such winsome grace — 
A muse who smiles and banters face to face ! 



A MASQUE OF BEAUTIES. 

Who tires, at last, in following Beauty's track, 
Must needs send Memory to bring her back. 

M. A. N. 

A STATUE ? No, for even now she stirred, 
**■ And turned that poised head, so like a bird. 
The public her Pygmalion was. To-day 
It mourns its Galatea, stolen away ! 

L. L. 

By me she watches, with a throbbing heart, 
The flames consume the temple of her Art, 
While flushes with her lily features toy : — 
The face of Helen at the siege of Troy ! 

b. c. 

A brave, bright girl, who will not comprehend 
The world was made for aught but Pleasure's end ; 
Who 'd walk up to the gates of Paradise 
And challenge Peter to withstand her eyes. 
83 



84 WAYSIDE MUSIC. 



C. U. P. 



Her eyes are as opals that cannot look sober, 
Beware them unless you were born in October, 
For men would be exiles could they but be bound 
In the gold tresses wherewith she is crowned. 



SONGS. 



THE HAPPY FARMER. 



{Suggested by the music, " The Happy Farmer" by Robert 
Schumann?) 



{Andante.) 

A~VER mountain peaks the morning breaks, 
^~' The robin at my window wakes, 
And calls me now to guide the plow 
Down where the waving willows bow. 
My sturdy team goes swiftly round 
And swiftly turns the fragrant ground, 
While breezes blow and grasses grow, 
And birds of passage northward go. 

Fly on, swift birds, across the land ! 
And blow, ye winds, from strand to strand ! 
For well I know, where'er ye go, 
Ye see no happier man below, 
For my heart is light and my love is true, 
And the day is full of work to do ! 
I 85 



86 WA YSIDE MUSIC. 

II. 

{Adagio.) 

The plow is still and blushes fill 
The heavens o'er the western hill, 
As homeward now, with tossing mane, 
My steeds go stepping down the lane. 
How glad they reach the water-trough ! 
And grateful now, with harness off, 
They follow to the pasture ground, 
And break away with playful bound. 
Now softly fall the meadow bars, 
And silently steal out the stars, 
And as I watch the splendid night 
I hear a footstep falling light, 
And some one saying, sweet and true, 
" Come, love, there 's no more work to do ! 



" ROBIN ADAIR." 

(Written for the music?) 

DLAINTIVE the song I heard 
* In the still night, 
Like to a morning bird 
Longing for light. 

For 't was a maiden's song — 
Waiting her lover long — 
Still singing sweet and strong 
Robin Adair. 

Close to the window-seat 

Softly I stole, 
Wond'ring who sang so sweet 
Out of her soul. 

My own love did I see, 
Looking so wistfully, 
While she sang tenderly : 
Robin Adair. 

Into my arms she sprang, 

White as a dove ; 
Forgot the song she sang, 

All but her love ! 

87 



88 WAYSIDE MUSIC. 

Brightest of earthly things — 
Memories that music brings, 
When now with me she sings : 
Robin Adair. 



NEVER FEAR. 

[ HAVE no fear for my fair, fair ship, 
* Wherever her course may lay, 
For her sails are white in the morning light, 
And her captain knows the way. 

On the rolling tide she will lightly glide, 
Like a bird that is homeward winging, 

Like a loving thought to the right one brought 
That needs not any bringing ! 

She will safely sail to her harbor home, 
For the winds and the waters love her ; 

So I have no fear, wherever she steer 
With the good bright stars above her. 



8* 



JUNE SONG. 

/^VH sing of a scudding sky in June, 
^-^ When the air is fresh and sweet, 
When the yachts of God are all abroad— 

Ten million in a fleet ; 
Nor mightiest hand in all the land 

Can stay one snowy sheet ! 

The oriole and the bobolink 
Fling challenge to the quail ; 

The clover nods to the milk-weed pods 
And the daisies dot the swale ; 

The soul of the rose on light wing goes, 
And sweetens all the gale. 

Ah, fair is the green world underneath, 

But oh, for the blue above ! 
To leave the grass and lightly pass 

As the pinion of a dove 
To the snowy boat that seems to float 

To the haven of my love ! 
90 



SONGS. 91 

Then sing of a scudding sky in June, 
When the world is fresh and sweet ; 

When the yachts of God are all abroad, — 
Ten million in the fleet ; 

Nor mightiest hand in all the land 
Can furl one flying sheet. 



ONE LITTLE ROOM. 

/^VNE little room, with thee, my love, 
^r Is large enough for me ; 
It were as good as all the world 

If only it held thee. 
Our little hut, in sun or shade, 

Might stand on rock or lea ; 
I would not covet palaces 

Beside the azure sea. 

One little window would suffice, 

If when I came at night 
Thy smiling face were waiting there — 

My homeward-beckoning light ! 
I only ask one lowly door 

And but a glimpse of grass, 
If out and in, like angel's feet, 

Thy steps will daily pass. 

One little table, just for two, 

One candle in its place, 
And lowly fare, so that it drew 

The blessing of thy face. 
92 



songs. 93 

One little ingle's light should throw- 
Its beams about the room, 

Although I know thy smile alone 
Would banish all the gloom ! 

O wind that hurtles from the strand, 

Do me a favor sweet ; 
O blow my song across the land 

And lay it at her feet. 
And let her know I wait and long 

To throw the world aside 
If she will make my hut a heaven 

By coming there to bide. 



MY TROUBADOUR. 

LI IGH in the maple swinging, 
_ * To usher in with singing 
The wedding of the dawn 
With the dew upon the lawn, 
You cheery little poet ! 
Although you do not know it 
And think no one is near you, 
We hear you, we hear you ! 
Carol on, Carol on! 

Hark, in the orchard hidden, 
A serenade unbidden ! 
And by this dainty clue, 
Robin, we know it 's you. 
No, you cannot deceive us, 
Pretending that you leave us ! 
We found you out, you dear, you 
We hear you, we hear you ! 
Carol on, Carol on! 

Now on the meadow floor 
The scarlet troubadour 
Such melody is letting 
94 



songs, 95 



The sun forgets its setting ! 
You music-beating heart, 
Doing your little part, 
You shall be seen and heard 
Though you are but a bird ! 
So never, never fear you ; 
We hear you, we hear you ! 
Carol o?i, Carol on! 



" DREAMS OF THE PAST." 
( Written for the music?) 



CAIR dies the sunset, so golden and tender, 
A Wistfully charming our spirits away ; 
So all the gladness or music or sadness, 

All that is beautiful never can stay. 
Yet as the sunshine that near us at noonday 

Seemed not so lovable, winsome and dear ; 
So all the joy and the love and the friendship, 

When far away, more enchanting appear. 



They who have labored well love the night's coming, 

Gladly they wait a more beautiful morn. 
All of the good we have loved is immortal ; 

Out of the sunset the sunrise is born. 
When in the twilight we long to look backward, 

Then, oh, come back again, lovely and clear, 
Sweet as a sunrise that brightens forever, 

Dreams of the past, once again, oh, appear ! 



96 



WILLOW SONG. 

Y\ 7ILLOW, reaching to the water 
^ * Loving arms to hold it back, 
Art thou patient with thy fortune ? 
Does thy life know any lack ? 

Art thou mindful that the streamlet 
Ripples, laughs, and fleets away ? 

Wilt thou woo it thus forever, 
Constant ever to it stay ? 

Shaking then its head so hoary 
With a hundred years, it said : 

Though 't is fickle I am faithful, 
Love is life till life is dead. 

Willow, Willow, we are brothers ; 

I am wooing, like to thee, 
One as fickle as thy river, 

Who but flouts and laughs at me ! 



97 



SKATING SONG. 

r^ OME, while the north wind sings ! 
^-^ We '11 change our feet for wings, 

As like a lance 

We glide and glance, 
And loud the good steel rings. 

Fleet Mercury and Mars 
And all the other stars, 

Companions bright, 

Will lend a light 
That 's fit for kings and czars. 

Now merry girls are whist 
As words of love they list, 

And cheeks burn red 

As if they said : 
We 're waiting to be kissed ! 



98 



A SONG FOR THE HICKORY TREE. 



A SONG for the hickory tree ! 
**■ While the wind is blowing free, 

And the golden leaves and silver nuts 
Drop down for you and me ! 

As we pull the nuggets out 

From their crypts with merry shout, 

The air is filled with a scent distilled 
Like the spices of the South. 

A health for the hickory tree — 
Rough-coated, hale and free — 

For its flesh is white and its heart is bright, 
And it laughs with you and me ! 

ii. 

The squirrel says with a wink, 
" I 'd sing a song, I think, 

To the girl who stands with snow-white hands 
And eyes that flash and blink. 
99 



100 WAYSIDE MUSIC. 

" Whose flesh is white and strong, 
Whose heart is free from wrong, 

And sound and sweet as the nut at her feet, 
And better than any song." 

So, take the song, my queen, 
For a kiss and a philopene ! 

'Mid the golden leaves and silver nuts, 
I kneel on the carpet green. 



BREAK BRIGHTLY, 
GLORIOUS EASTER MORN. 

DREAK brightly, glorious Easter morn, 
*-* Now that the winter snows have fled, 
And so deny with splendid scorn 

That earth is haggard, old and dead ! 

A million million emerald spears 
Rise to proclaim her ever young, 

And hark ! Her ever youthful years 
On lily bells are sweetly rung. 

Oh, freely swing and grandly swell, 

Ye church-tower bells, with merry din ; 

The darkness of our souls expel 
And let the light of love come in. 

Break brightly, glorious Easter morn, 
Into these gloomy hearts of ours, 

That they, too, may this day adorn, 
And shed a perfume like the flowers. 



SONNETS. 



THE OLD DWELLING. 

CEE how the dwelling trembles to its fall — 

^ The wondrous house of life now leased to death ; 

How softly in and out moves the light breath, 
And gently in the tender-memoried hall 
Speaks the loved owner, soon beyond recall. 

In the fast-closing windows glimmereth 

A dying glory as when sunset saith 
Good-night, sweet dreams, and faith arid hope to all. 

Thus, full of enterprise and joyous trust, 

Perched on a sill, serene and plumed for flight, 
A dove will pause, while ruin round it lies. 
So, too, dear soul, although thy house is dust, 
Yet thou, thyself, now free as morning light, 
Canst find another home, 'neath other skies. 



102 



THE HUMAN PLAN. 

r^ HILD, weary of thy baubles of to-day — 
^-^ Child with the golden or the silver hair — 

Say, how would'st thou have built creation's stair, 
Had'st thou been free to have thy puny way ? 
Could thy intelligence have shot the ray 

That lit the universe of upper air ? 

Would'st thou have bid the surging stars to dare 
Their glorious flight and never stop nor stay ? 

Yet, casting on this life thy weak disdain, 
Thou triest to guess thy lot in loftier places, 
To draw the heaven of our human need ; 
A door of Rest, a flash of wings, a strain 
Of 'trancing music, and the long-lost faces ! 
But, after all, what may be Heaven indeed ? 



[03 



WOMAN. 

PAIRER than all the fantasies that dart 

* Adown the dreams of our most favored sleep, 

Thy lovely form since Eden's day doth keep 
The constant pattern of a perfect art ! 
Yet more do we admire thy better part, 

The spirit strong to smile when others weep ; 

And well know we who sail life's ocean deep 
There is no haven like a woman's heart. 

Thus, often weary ere the victory 's won, 

Tired with my task, my head I fain would lay 
In some good lady's lap as did the Dane, 
And watch the action of the world go on, 
Knowing 't is but a play within a play, 
The fleeting portion of an endless plan. 



104 



ILLUSIONS. 

T^HE free, bright gold-mines on the sunset hills — 
* The pure, sweet promises that star the stems 

When quick-foot May her emerald garment hems 
With apple-blossoms — diamond-shower that fills 
Winter with white forgetfulness of ills — 

All cheats ! Gold — dross ! May's — imitation gems ! 

And where are all the frail snow diadems 
The world has wept away in annual rills ? 

Yet has the Hand that framed our stately dwelling 

Hidden in beauty architrave and beam, 
Placed no black orbs in hopeless heavens knelling, 

But azure arch with studded stars agleam ; 
And spirit voices keep on softly telling 

To doubt the Analyst and trust the Dream. 



105 



SLEEP'S CONQUEST. 

1 NVISIBLE armies come, we know not whence, 

* And like a still, insinuating tide 
Encompass us about on every side. 

They overpower each weary, outpost sense 

Till thought is taken, sleeping in his tents. 
Yet now the conqueror, with a lofty pride, 
Becomes our guardian, with us doth abide, 

And plans all night our wondrous recompense. 

He takes away the worn and tarnished day 
And brings to-morrow, bride without a stain ; 
Gives us fresh liberty, a chance to mend — 
Life, hope and friends enhanced with fresh array. 
Then, when we fail, he conquers us again, 
Paroling us each day until the end. 



106 



THE FOREST KNIGHTS. 

MOVEMBER, grizzled bugler, blows his horn 

* To call the forest knights from tournament, 
And leafy dalliance with zephyrs spent, 

And languorous months that call to them forlorn. 

For now the old strength in their breasts is born ; 
Oak, ash and maple, with their great arms bent, 
Fling by their plumes, gay garnitures are rent, 

And in their stead a mail of ice is worn. 

Ah, sore the dint the forest knights must bear 
When all the wrack of pagan, wintry storms 
From out the North leaps on the noble band ! 
How arms must strike and clash, and trumpets blare, 
And armor ring, ere once again their forms 
Wear wreaths of victory from Summer's hand ! 



107 



THE NEW YEAR. 

A WANDERING heir to wealth I never piled, 
**• I take this gift of Time, and as I hold 

This New Year with its counted days of gold, 
I muse and wonder like a little child — 
Hardly to such rich fortune reconciled — 

Yet planning how to spend it, and with bold 

Design to fill each day with manifold 
Good deeds, fair thoughts, and pleasures undefiled. 

Why should wealth make us spendthrift ? In one day 
A man may write a never-dying word, 
Or strike a blow to ring adown the years ! 
Yet here are thrice a hundred ; and shall they 
Be doled out like the last, with ill use blurred ? 
O fair New Year ! I take the gift with tears. 



108 



COLUMBUS. 
('*?•) 

VOU who are baffled and are sore distraught 
* With long-successive tidal waves of doom, 
Losing each gallant hope in angry boom 

Of billows gnashing all your plans to naught ; 

Look at this man who lacked all that is taught 
By the late centuries ; who, on the gloom 
Of a sea fury-haunted marked out room 

For a great Land that lived in no one's thought ! 

By the light given, following his star, 

Though lesser men might fear or chide or laugh, 
He drave ahead ; and when amid his crew 
He knelt where now a hundred millions are, 
Gave us a continent, his cenotaph, 
To tell forever what one man may do. 



io 109 



WRITTEN IN A VOLUME OF SHAKESPEARE. 

DETWEEN these covers a fair country lies, 

*-^ Which, though much travelled, always seemeth new ; 
Far mountain peaks of Thought reach to the blue, 

While placid meadows please less daring eyes. 

Deep glens and ivied walls where daylight dies 
Tell of Romance, and lovers brush the dew 
By moonlit stream and lake, while never few 

Are the rich bursts of Song that shake the skies. 

This country's king holds never-ending court ; 

To him there come from all his wide domain 
Minstrels of Love and spangled imps of Sport, 

And messengers of Fancy, Joy and Pain : 
Of man and nature he has full report ; 

He made his kingdom, none dispute his reign. 



no 



ADELAIDE NEILSON. 

A VOICE that mocks a laughing, mountain brook, 

**• A smile as swift as summer swallows fly, 
And eyes that drain the beauty of the sky 

To fill our hearts with but a single look ! 

But lack of lovely words ! For if I took 
A thousand pages whereupon to try 
To draw her attributes, my pen would dry, 

And I would write but " Beauty " in the book. 

Yet may be found her spirit masked in flowers, 
Her genius-light in yonder steadfast star, 

Her winsome graces in the wandering stream ; 
And from the perfect poet of all hours 
We catch the message, falling from afar : 
" This Rosalind is worthy of my dream." 



SUNSET ON THE PALISADES. 

(~^ IVE me a golden frame for yonder sky 
^" - * And let me hang it on my memory's wall, 

That I may not forget how sweetly fall 
The mellow hues that seem to sanctify 
The purple cliffs, the river, and, more nigh, 
The old, bare elm-tree, with its branches tall 
Etched on the radiance, and yon manor-hall 
With gray stone walls whereon the lichens lie. 

Now pales the golden zone the world doth wear, 
And, fleck by fleck, the crimson tints retreat 
From Night's gray wings that over me unroll. 
Across the hills the feet of Twilight fare, 

While sounds of vesper bells come, low and sweet, 
As if from yonder Evening Star they stole. 



TO BEATRICE CAMERON. 

( With " Lady Geraldine's Courtship") 

P EW things are good enough to give away — 
* In friendship's light pure diamonds are cheap- 

But kindly deeds and words must ever keep 
Their lustre bright, and so to you I say : 
Keep this, good heart, in memory of the day 
We watched the busy farmers mow and reap 
Across the stream, or on the hillside steep 
The shadows of the clouds in endless play. 

Again the scene before me rises clear, 

And you your earnest glances on me bend ; 

Soft falls the river's music on my ear, 

The leaves their light, aeolian language lend ; 

And yet that lovely day is only dear 

Because it framed the picture of my friend. 



10* 113 



THE DAWN. 

J\ /I Y day of youth had set in doubt and tears, 
* ' * It seemed an endless night encompassed me, 

I faltered on in paths I could not see, 
Forgot the music of my morning years 

And fell into the hands of nameless fears, 
While clouds rolled over life's once sunny lea. 

Then dawned the day when I won sight of thee, 
And, as a man in early dawning hears 
The woods and fields in many warblings wake, 

Or as the mere by morning's amulet 
Is charmed to glory like a heavenly lake, 

So did my soul awake when first we met, 
And life became immortal for thy sake — 

O dearest Love, my sun that shall not set ! 



114 



OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 

"PHOU age-crowned poet, with the smile of youth, 
* Who hast so blent our laughter with our tears, 
Thou 'It ne'er be homeless, for thou hast in truth 

Leased homes in hearts for many, many years ! 
Though puzzled by the parson's wondrous " shay," 

We cannot miss the logic of thy love, 
Which made " Nautilus " sing a deathless lay 

And " Voiceless " voice so many a songless dove. 

Light-hearted singer, happy because pure, 
Thy books are not for dusty upper shelves, 

Because thou hast not writ of things obscure, 
But sung to us the music of ourselves. 

Long may thy " Leaf " cling to the precious bough ! 

Long may we prize thy songs as we do now ! 



115 



"H. H." 

A BOVE this simple tribute to her worth 
**■ I write the letters she was wont to sign — 

The slender clue to many a lovely line 
By her large poet-nature given birth — 
Well knowing I may not express the dearth 
Her death has made, as I could not define 
The loss if some flower, with which intertwine 
The world's sweet thoughts, were blotted from the earth. 

And yet we say : She gave us of her best ; 
Her heart was open as her eyrie home ; 
Her thought as if by mirrors multiplied. 
And, standing by the red man of the West, 

She seemed like Justice on her mountain dome, 
Her pen a sword that flashed out far and wide. 



116 



NOT BY SELF-SIGHT. 

MOT by self-sight, but by the Over-Sight, 
* ^ Shall we with safety journey to the end. 

As we progress, the landmarks veer and bend, 
Nor boldest mariner may read aright 
The lamps that glimmer in the live-long night 

On shores uncharted, never human-kenned ; 

By higher knowledge must we know our trend, 
And lay our course off by an Inner Light. 

The seasons draw the birds by night or day, 
Blindly the blossoms flower and fade and fall ; 
Are there not kindly seasons for the soul ? 
What guide but Faith can show the unknown way, 
What ear but hers divine when wreckers call, 
While winds of God seek out the heavenly goal ? 



"7 



SYMPATHY. 

D Y us she waits, unheralded and meek, 

*-* Forgotten in the blessings that she brings : 

We do not guess her eyes conceal the springs 
Of all the streams of gladness that we seek. 
Until she wills, kind words we may not speak ; 

Without her hint the angels fold their wings ; 
So soft her touch, and how for feeblest things 
The smiles and tears run races on her cheek ! 

Lacking her counsel Love might go astray, 
And Charity itself would cast a chill, 
And Happiness on earth be but a name ; 
Her golden key unlocks the poet's way, 
Else Genius, nathless all his mighty will, 
Might stumble blindly at the gates of fame. 



118 



WAITING. 

A S little children in a darkened hall 
**• At Christmas-tide await the opening door, 

Eager to tread the fairy-haunted floor 
About the tree with goodly gifts for all, 
And in the dark unto each other call — 

Trying to guess their happiness before — 

Or of their elders eagerly implore 
Hints of what fortune unto them may fall : 

So wait we in Time's dim and narrow room, 
And with strange fancies, or another's thought, 
Try to divine, before the curtain rise, 
The wondrous scene. Yet soon shall fly the gloom 
And we shall see what patient ages sought, 
The Father's long-planned gift of Paradise. 

THE END. 



II 9 



BY THE SAME AUTHOR 

REPRESENTATIVE SONNETS 

BY 

AMERICAN POETS 

EDITED BY 

CHARLES H. CRANDALL 



WITH AN INTRODUCTORY ESSAY, BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

AND FULL INDEXES. GILT TOP, 360 PP. 

PRICE, $1.50, BY MAIL 

Published by Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 

BOSTON, MASS. 

PRESS NOTICES 



Mr. Crandall's volume is the best anthology of American 
sonnets that we have. — The Critic. 

He has not passed by any single notable sonnet. — New 
York Evening Post. 

A genuine and competent addition to American belles- 
lettres. — Portland Press. 

We recall no single essay that so clearly defines the 
sonnet. — New York Christian Union. 

The impression made by the entire work is most agree- 
able. — Boston Literary World. 

Every friend and student of American literature must 
acknowledge himself the editor's debtor. — New York 
Christian Inquirer. 



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